


The White Collar Job

by transliterate



Category: Leverage, White Collar
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Fluff and Angst, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:58:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transliterate/pseuds/transliterate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several months after her father's sudden and largely unexplained death, Elizabeth Burke discovers the truth about his demise and reaches out to her half brother, Nate Ford. </p><p>Nate and his team of "specialists" fly into New York after Sophie's old friend Neal calls in a favor for help with a case he's working on. Sophie failed to mention Neal's connection with Nate's half sister, however...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been toying with this idea for awhile, and even though I'm not terribly happy with the introduction, I hope you'll like it!
> 
> ESSENTIALLY I am writing this from whatever knowledge I've accrued after watching both shows, but for clarity's sake we'll just say this is set some time after the season 4 finale of Leverage and before the season 5 premiere. Despite the events that take place in "The Last Dam Job", it is safe to say that Nate is still grieving the loss of his father. As far as the WC 'verse is concerned, I have this set somewhere in the middle of S3 events, just after Keller is convicted. Therefore, both Nate and El are in somewhat vulnerable positions when they meet.
> 
> For White Collar, "Pulling Strings" (aka the episode where El's parents visit) would be slightly different, as Jimmy Ford would burn his alias as Alan Mitchell not long after his daughter married Peter, the ambitious FBI agent. Additionally, I can't resist making the "Sterling" of Sara's "Sterling and Bosch" Jim Sterling. I suspect he'd keep the position in name only after landing the Interpol job, with Sara acting as his representative. Just completely disregard the character he played in the WC pilot YOU CAN DO THIS.
> 
> There are a few other connections I've made, but you'll have to discover them within the chapters :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> generally suck at writing ladies' pov and also I wrote this at 4AM >???? no excuses I write like this all the time

**el**

A few short months after marrying Peter Burke, Elizabeth's father announced plans for divorce. The divorce itself was not entirely shocking (El's parents had been unhappy together for years, and she suspected they were waiting until she could 'handle' it before they officially separated), but the lack of communication on her father's part post-divorce acted as a source of concern for her. Then, Peter made a startling discovery.

Finding out the truth about her father had been an adjustment, but as time passed Elizabeth forgave the man. For a time, El felt like her entire life was built on lies. Growing up thinking your father was an incredibly driven albeit absent businessman was one thing; becoming aware of his genuine occupation was in an entirely different category.

"I'm so sorry, El." Peter was so calm, so apologetic. He'd stumbled upon the truth after looking into case files that corresponded with the James Bonds case he was pursuing. From what he had pieced together about Jimmy Ford, it appeared that Elizabeth and her mother had acted as a convenient alibi and cover identity for the con man. That admission alone was more than enough to make Elizabeth want to curl into a ball and hide in Peter's arms until her world was righted again.

"My entire life... every piece of my childhood... how am I supposed to know what was real and what was neccessary?" Her questions stayed this way as she attempted to work out some semblence of understanding. Peter swore that by all accounts Jimmy Ford never appeared to use the Alan Mitchell alias for anything other than a cover. She could take some comfort in knowing that he'd never used her as a prop in any of his cons, but to what extent was that comforting? Peter also told her about Nate Ford, Jimmy's estranged son. Later, when her father left the states for good, Peter and El both speculated that Nate had something to do with his departure.

Several years passed before she felt as if she could move on, and this was perhaps thanks to the recent presence of additional con men in her life. As Peter's working relationship with Neal Caffrey grew into a legimate friendship, El's opinion of her father began to shift and evolve. Conversations with both Neal and his eccentric counterpart, Mozzie had aided Elizabeth and given her all the peace of mind she could hope for where her father was concerned. Though she was often tempted to find a way to contact and confront the man, and Peter never attempted to discourage her from doing so, she simply couldn't do it. Elizabeth Burke rarely gave up when situations seemed difficult, but this one in particular took all the fight out of her. Better to leave it alone.

All the healthy "coming to terms with the fact that your dad is actually a lying con man" progress Elizabeth made didn't really seem to matter much after the explosion.

* * *

**sophie**

Sophie had never seen Nate so distraught. She was there when his son died, but only functioning as a silent member of the backstage production crew. All these years later, the role had shifted significantly and as the leading lady, she was meant to piece the inimitable Nate Ford back together again.

As a functioning alcoholic, Nate was clever, flirtacious to the point of frustration, and very often reckless. He was never mean, though. The meanness only came out when he was beyond functioning, when he began to abuse alcohol not for the purposes of getting through the day but with the intent to  _forget_. Sophie knew Nate more than she wanted to, hated that she understood his need to forget and subsequent desire to be forgotten. His reaction to Jimmy's death was understandable, and despite their success against Latimer, Nate only seemed to go deeper inside of himself.

 _"Soph, why do you even bother?"_  He'd slurred in her direction before finally passing out over the copious notes he'd composed while going over previous cases. This was his own self-conducted 'therapy': reliving the past glories and failures while liberally self-medicating through the form of hard liquor. It couldn't be stopped, Sophie knew this from her own past experiences... that didn't mean the period of emptyness he was going through was in any way bearable for her.

The darker it got for Nate, the worse off everyone was. Eliot became more withdrawn than usual, but he made sure to let Sophie know that he was around in the event that Nate became uncontrollable. From the outside, the dysfunction that had settled over the team was enough to cause a potential breakdown. But Parker and Hardison continued to track down small cases that they could work on together, or with Eliot's help; and despite everything, Sophie knew that the situation wasn't beyond control.

She might not know how to fix Nate this time, but she knew he could be fixed. That was enough for now.

As a housekeeping rule, Sophie had instructed Hardison to have all of Nate's correspondence (calls, texts, e-mails, etc.) forwarded to her. Pretending that her role started and ended at 'caretaker' was often easier to swallow than... whatever label Nate had dreamt up for them. She could easily fall into whatever persona best fit the situation, but the hardest role for Sophie to play was the one opposite Nate.

Nate in his darkest moment, a moment she thought he'd surpassed long ago. _"I bother because I'm yours,"_ she'd nearly whispered to the slumped over shell. Instead, after helping him to the couch, she glanced over his recent e-mails. One message in particular stood out above the rest. The address was unfamiliar to Sophie and didn't appear to be spam, which led her to catiously click through to the e-mail itself. Scanning the content proved to shock Sophie, but also gave her some opitimism about Nate's condition.

* * *

  
**el**

" _There is no easy way to word this_ ," Elizabeth had typed, hands shaking. " _So I'll just go ahead and explain why I am writing you. My name is Elizabeth Burke, and Jimmy Ford was my father_." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot doesn't trust anyone easily, much less pretty boys with nice smiles.

**eliot**

Sophie was really going all out for this case for her friend from the past. 

"While we're in New York, we can go to a proper Broadway production, Nate!" Her excitement was infectuous, especially in for Parker, who associated New York City with tall buildings meant to be jumped off of. While Sophie continued to list potential perks off to Nate, Eliot made himself scarce.

They would go, or they wouldn't. He'd be there for the team in either case, and Sophie knew that. Although, for once, he wouldn't mind the long flight and change of scenery. A distraction from Nate's downward spiral wasn't easily found in the small work Hardison kept digging up on the Internet. He felt trapped.

Usually a long break between big cases was like sitting in comfortable silence with the team. Eliot loved those moments, when Nate and Sophie would steal away like teenagers finding bleachers to make out under and Hardison tinkered with his gadgets so they were in "Prime condition. Opitmus Prime." (a phrase that Alec constantly used, garnering various scowls from Eliot). Parker tended to stray off in their down time; Eliot strongly suspected she was dealing with unresolved pieces of her past without the help of the team, but he wasn't going to intervene unless she asked for it. He trusted her judgement. Sometimes, though, she'd tiptoe into the kitchen and ask him to make her truffles, or hot chocolate. He always complied. Those were good days, easy days.

In the aftermath of Jimmy's death, the easiness was just a memory. Nate was broken, Sophie was trying to fix him. Together, Parker and Hardison were able to keep each other sane, but Eliot could tell they were suffering from the same case of restlessness he had. 

Sophie's voice floated into the kitchen where he'd skulked away to, still pushing and nearly-grifting Nate. "...the  _sights_ , Nate! You've always loved New York in the Fall." Eliot propped himself against the bar and waited for Nate's resigned agreement. They'd been going over the details of the case for hours, he would have been surprised if Nate said no.

With a victorious giggle, Sophie began reviewing the facts once more. This time, Hardison was able to assist with visuals while she talked, as he'd been researching the case independently while Sophie convinced Nate they should fly in to NYC. 

"Neal Caffrey, former con artist and my partner in crime for a series of international cons--" Nate interrupted here, catching Sophie off guard. "Caffrey? Was he... Paris?" Hearing the hint of jealousy in Nate's voice, Eliot was just curious enough to make his way back into the living-turned-conference-room; and just in time, too. Sophie gave Nate a halfway sympathetic look before continuing her pitch. "That's the past. Together we were relatively unstoppable, Nate certainly never caught up with us." She couldn't seem to resist sending him these sort of jabs, even now. Then again, a bit of spark seemed to have returned to Nate at Caffrey's name. As Sophie continued, Eliot's eyes flicked to the picture onscreen.

Well. Maybe Nate's concerns about Sophie's past relationship with this allegedly  _former_ con man weren't completely unfounded. With blue eyes like that, a man could spend the rest of his life conning. "On the phone he sounded quite desperate. I feel it would be best if we arrived some time within the next few days." Hardison grinned broadly at Sophie. "I already booked the flight for tonight."

The whole team was practically crawling out of their skin, as evidenced by the fact that it took everyone under five minutes to be packed and ready to go.

* * *

 

For Eliot, flying was a neccessary evil. He knew what thrill Parker saw in it, but that didn't mean he had to share her feeling. "I'm ready for the damn thing to get in the air," he grumbled under his breath. Not quietly enough, however. At his complaint, Parker poked him in the side. Purposely annoying. "Eliot." She poked him again. Hardison really needed to get back from the bathroom. "Maybe if you tried some of the breathing exercises Sophie taught you, you wouldn't be so nervous." He could tell she was debating poking his side once more, so he sent a withering glare in her direction to make up her mind for her. 

Nervous, right. He wasn't nervous. Maybe some anxiety was involved. He couldn't exactly calm down, though. For Eliot, stress relief came in the form of fighting or plucking away at the strings of an acoustic. His guitar was back at their headquarters, and the two CIA agents posing as a newlywed couple in addition to the US Marshall sitting in the back probably wouldn't react well if he started pulling punches for no reason. Then again, if the flight attendant forgot to bring him his drink order for the third time in a row, a skirmish wouldn't be completely out of line. 

"Dude. The flight isn't even that long." Hardison remarked breezily, noting the completely non-relaxed way Eliot was sitting as he squeezed by to get to his seat on the other side of Parker. "I told him to try breathing differently." Parker offered up, helpful as always. Finally the plane began to move. "See? We're about to hurtle into the skies at top speed. Nothing to worry about, buddy." Eliot gave Parker a weak smile. She really  _was_ being helpful, in her own way. 

To take his mind off of hurtling into the skies, Eliot began to mentally go over the basics of the case they were about to integrate themselves into. It was a tricky one, but nothing they couldn't handle. This Caffrey, Sophie's former partner of the international crime variety, Neal: he'd done a total 360 since Sophie last worked with him. Apparently prison had changed him, because he was working with the FBI now. Sophie had explained that he was bound to an anklet device that tracked his movements and kept him within a small radius. In her brief, Sophie had been hesitant to share certain details. Evidently Neal's past was peppered with mistakes, but in that case, he was in good company. Eliot had sensed she was holding back, and he asked her about it when the others were walking through security.

She remained tight-lipped, changing the subject quickly and calling Parker over before he could insist on a real answer. Going over what he'd heard, the vagueness didn't add up. Working with feds seemed like a bad idea to Eliot; in his experience the give and take ratio had always been weighted in their favor, but Caffrey's choices clearly weren't a matter for Eliot to discuss. He couldn't figure out  _why_ someone as skilled (if he was as talented as Sophie seemed to think) as he was would leave that behind for... solving white collar crime? His handler- the FBI agent, Burke- had to be one persuasive guy. 

Then again, Eliot had given up a steady paying gig to become one of Nate's merry men of Sherwood, so he wasn't exactly in any place to judge. 

The flight was halfway done and Hardison hadn't stopped talking since wheels up. "Mozzie is one of the best hackers I've worked with in the past, Parker. You'll really like him." It seemed Sophie wasn't the only one reuniting with old partners. "A few years after I started working independently I ran into some trouble with... well..." Alec was reluctant to share  _all_ of his misfortunes with the team, especially in the case of Parker and Eliot. It kind of frustrated Eliot, but it was also an endearing quality. He really needed to get away from the two of them for a few days. Pretty soon he'd be playing video games and drinking orange soda as if it were second nature.

"So there was  _trouble_ ," Hardison continued, without missing a beat, though Eliot had a sneaking suspicion that he'd just read all of Eliot's previous thoughts concerning orange soda and video games and it was more or less disconcerting. "And I was pretty new to the scene, so I thought hiding out in a cyber cafe would be the safest, most inconspicuous thing I could do." Sophie leaned over from the next aisle, patting Alec's knee. "Rookie mistake." "That's exactly what Mozzie told me after he pulled me out of there right before my -er- the interested parties entered the cafe. He taught me almost everything I needed to know about blending in and finding the right marks... you know, stuff I could have figured out on my own..."

"... if he wasn't around." Eliot finished for Alec. In a weird way, he got that. Hardison kept on going, elaborating his tale by detailing a shared love for bubble gum ice cream, but Eliot zoned out again. The whole thing made him go back to Neal Caffrey. After comparing notes, Sophie and Hardison had realized that their former acquaintances appeared to have fallen into each others's lives years before and never bothered to part ways. From what he'd gathered, Neal Caffrey seemed to stick around not for any sense of duty, but for the connections he'd made in that small radius. This was something Eliot could relate to. However, despite Sophie's faith in the man, Eliot wasn't going to make any decisions about him until they met. The case demanded trust on all sides, as Caffrey had stipulated to Sophie that their presence be unaware to the FBI (and agent Burke, in particular) and their team couldn't perform at all unless they had assurances from Neal (and anyone else privy to his knowledge) that their actions would remain anonymous.

Though the trust was demanded, that didn't necessarily mean it would be given. First, he had to look Caffrey in the eye. Maybe then he'd stop mulling over the other man's motivations. If he didn't know any better, Eliot might think he had a crush.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal makes messes, and Mozzie cleans up after him.

**mozzie**

Neal's solution had been easy enough: call Sophie. But Mozzie wasn't too sure. He was looking forward to reuniting with Hardison again, of course. Together, they could finally crack his latest side-project. The reunion wasn't really about swapping memories over complicated coding, however.

After the Suit explicitly refused to let Neal participate in his active case and gave him an unasked for vacation, Mozzie knew better than to think that was the end of it. After all, this case _was_ personal. Just weeks after the anniversary of Kate's death, an unmarked package had been delivered to Neal's doorstep. The package itself was nondescript, but the contents were earth shattering. A few of Kate's personal items had been carefully enclosed, from a photograph of her with Neal to the necklace he'd actually _paid for_ and given to her on her birthday one year. The only item that didn't belong to Kate was a typed note, detailing Adler's part in Kate's death as well as his or her own role. Neal had reluctantly handed the items over to the FBI at Mozzie's instruction (only after they'd completed some careful cataloging of their own) and it wasn't long before Peter sent Neal on his early vacation.

It was a delicate balancing act. Neal wanted Sophie's-- or really, Nate Ford's-- team to go in and extract the needed information all while ensuring that the FBI (namely, Peter) stayed completely unaware of these actions. Despite the caliber of work Nate Ford and his team were known for, at the end of the day they were still thieves. It wasn't a huge surprise to Mozzie that they agreed to do the job, especially considering how closely Sophie had worked with Neal in the past. She knew a lot about him, maybe even more than Mozzie. 

Neal's problem wasn't that he cared to little for people, it was that he cared too much. Mozzie had never seen anyone fall in love as quickly as Neal did. He always used the romantic side of himself to help his cons, but it was alarming nevertheless. Whenever they happened to go out for dinner, there would be waiters and hostesses alike falling all over themselves to ensure Neal's comfort. All he had to do was flash a smile and it was game over. For everybody.

So, Neal had Kate and then briefly Sara Ellis and a collection of random hook-ups that outlined Neal's growing recklessness. It felt like another world, but in truth it was only a span of years that separated Mozzie from any of Neal's other random hook-ups. Mozzie always felt that Neal realized after hook-up #5 that things weren't exactly "random" anymore and maybe that was why they stopped. Maybe that was why  _Neal_ thought they stopped. When Mozzie saw the value their relationship could create if they weren't  _distracted_ by each other all the time, well. It seemed like an easy solution.

And it hurt. It hurt so goddamn much. Neal Caffrey was never going to be a one-man or one-woman guy. It just wasn't his nature. Neal was always on, always set at the highest speed. He could hardly stop long enough to give you a good morning kiss, much less stay for breakfast. So they were friends. Every now and then Neal would drink too much wine and he'd become the same vulnerable mess that Mozzie had first met. He'd want to be held and because Mozzie was a Good Friend and a Bad Person he would comply. He'd never let anything get too far because they were both beyond that kind of destructive relationship at this point, but it stung a little more every time Neal drunkenly kissed him, affectionately whispering  _"Moz, what would I do without..."_ before passing out in his loft.

That was the biggest problem. Trying to be with Neal was messy. Ignoring the phsyical aspects of a relationship with Neal Caffrey, there were the emotional damages to consider. Even keeping emotional scars out of it, Neal always seemed to need cleaning up after. He was always in some sort of a crisis that he needed help with, whether he admitted it or not. It could be something simple, like making sure he didn't lock himself out of June's again, or something slightly more complex... like helping him lie to the Suit and get to the bottom of The Kate Thing without the FBI's assistance. 

Still, it was bound to be a wild adventure, and working with a group of thieves that used their skill set for "good" intrigued Mozzie. He wondered if Neal would honestly choose to lead the life of an honest criminal if given the chance. 

"Moz, don't forgot that Peter's got a tail on me. I'm pretty sure he's only sticking around to make sure I don't go anywhere, but make sure you bring them in through the back entrace just in case." Neal was nervous. He'd been feverishly working on a Rembrandt for days now, but only to distract himself from the Plan. Nothing could happen without the rest of the team. "Neal, don't worry. I've got it under control." Mozzie tapped the side of his head twice to indicate he and his brain would handle everything. The uneasy smile Caffrey sent his way was more or less reassuring.  "I'll be back soon. Just don't do anything crazy while I'm gone."

Dressed as an unassuming limo driver, Mozzie held a sign reading TOM BAKER AND ASSOCIATES with relative calm. This was the easy part. As long as no airport security guards recognized them, they would all be in and out of the airport in record time. Though he'd seen pictures of the crew, Mozzie kept his eyes peeled for Hardison. Alec was tall, so he figured the man would be easier to spot out of a crowd than the others. Then again, they were all masters of disguise. "Ah, our ride." A confident voice streamed out over the hum of airport conversation and Mozzie realized he was staring right in the face of Nate Ford. The whole team was All Business, with Nate and Sophie dressed as company execs and the others as lackeys or corporate bottom feeders. It was a pretty standard play, especially when you were travelling in groups of more than 3 people. "Yes, sir." Mozzie replied, completely in character. He wouldn't drop the act until they were in the limo.

Like any good team, they each remained in character as well. Sophie turned to the blonde- Parker- and indicated her desparate need for a latte. The reaction of the tinier female was comical, (she appeared to be a personal assistant of some degree) as she glared in Sophie's direction and shifted around the excessive amount of bags she was carrying to pull out a wallet and slouch over to the nearest coffee station. Alec was brandishing a bluetooth like it was his lifeline while the quiet, muscular guy- Eliot- surveyed the crowd and checked his watch. When Parker returned with Sophie's latte  _"Here you go, Miss Tyler"_ (through gritted teeth), Mozzie decided they should really get the hell out of there. Something about the look on Eliot's face didn't sit well with him. "Right this way, everyone," Mozzie directed, and thankfully they followed without any more theatrics. 

Once they were in the limo, all pretense dropped away. Hardison abandoned the bluetooth, Sophie calmly sipped on her latte while Nate raided the tiny liquor cabinet for whatever poison he preferred. Parker immediately stripped down to a tank top and Eliot did much of the same, shedding his suit coat and abandoning the tie. There was a comfortable beat of silence while Mozzie maneuvered through airport traffic, but once they were on the road, Hardison broke the silence. "Good to see you, Moz!" At that, Mozzie adjusted the rear-view so he could make eye contact with Alec and he nodded his agreement. "It's been too long." The drive back to Neal's wasn't too far at all, so Mozzie just let them talk amongst themselves while he made it back into the city.

The "back entrance" at June's was really someone else's house on the opposite side. Back in the day June's husband had built in a secret door that led into the neighbor's home as an easy escape route. Luckily for Neal, the homeowners were visiting family in Florida and they left their spare key in a fake rock by the door. As Mozzie ushered the group in, Parker kindly offered to pick the lock the next time they needed to break into a house. Mozzie hoped they'd get more chances to interact; the blonde was by far the most interesting member of the group. 

"Just through here, guys," Mozzie spoke softly just in case there were any undocumented animals living in the house. He'd been attacked by far too many angry house cats in the past. The secret door was pretty easy to open if you knew where the hidden latch was. It led into the study that June's late husband used to plan heists in. Unsurprisingly, Neal was waiting on the other side of the door, leaning against a desk and appearing cool as a cucumber. Total con man.

"Everyone, this is Neal Caffrey," Sophie announced by way of introduction, before walking over and pulling him into a hug. Mozzie noticed Neal fall into the hug, crumpling at the familiarity of her touch. It occurred to him that Neal was taking this harder than he'd originally realized. He looked away, not wanting to invade the private moment, and his eye caught Eliot taking in the scene he'd just witnessed. What Mozzie couldn't tell was if he was zeroing in on Sophie, or Neal. When the hug ended, Neal showed no sign of emotional distress. Instead, he straightened his suit and cleared his throat. "Let's take this upstairs, shall we?"

The rest of the evening was spent establishing roles and getting comfortable around each other, which was pretty easy for Mozzie, who just wedged himself between Alec and Neal and watched as Nate bartered for more control over the case. Sophie and Nate and Neal worked as a weird triangle of leaders while the rest of them silently listened. The job was going to take time to plan out and execute, so Mozzie was fine with pouring himself another glass of Neal's wine and talking shop with Hardison and Parker while Neal discussed specifics with Sophie and Nate. Eliot kept to himself, but Mozzie respected that. He caught him eyeing Neal more than once, but that was probably just part of his job description... survey the surroundings, ensure the safety of the team? Mozzie didn't really 100% understand the role of a hitter. He'd never had use of one before. Looking back, it seemed he probably  _had_ needed a hitter, it was just that he always relied on brains over brawn to get the job done. Either way, there had to be a simple reason for Eliot Spencer to keep his eyes glued to Neal, not one that had anything to do with Neal's fitted shirt with the first few buttons undone. Not that he could really blame him. After all, Caffrey was practically one of Michelangelo's sculptures; it wouldn't be a surprise if the other man was taking in a few appreciative glances here and there.

Mozzie wasn't jealous, either. He was just hoping his own skills of observation were playing tricks on him, because the last thing Neal needed was a new, shiny distraction. He was barely hanging on these days as it was, and colliding into somebody else's life just so he could feel and also _not_ feel was exactly the sort of selfish behavior Neal seemed to default to when he was overwhelmed and looking for a Way Out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, long time no update! I hope this is a nice addition after having to wait so long in between chapters. I'm really trying to create something that stays true to the essence of these characters while also having some fun with it, so if there's anything that seems totally off base (aside from the obvious changes), please let me know! I'll be working/taking a summer class for the next few months so I'm planning on spending some quality time with this fic and really getting to the heart of the story. Thanks for reading! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most people couldn't resist a good smile, and Neal had it on very reliable authority that his was one of the best. Then again, Eliot Spencer was proving not to be most people.

**neal**

Neal was a collector.

Sara Ellis (among many other skeptics) had always indicated she suspected he held on to the various items he had allegedly stolen over the course of his career, saying Neal had just enough brazen stupidity to keep incriminating treasures hidden away in a storage locker somewhere... and she was right. He was slightly more creative with the hidden location of said items, and every few months or so he would have the more valuable pieces moved again. 

The collection was vanity at its highest peak: only he knew for sure that he was the one who had stolen the priceless works.

Neal believed in looking back, but he tended to stick to forward motion rather than dwell on the past. Too many memories and temptations resurfaced if he didn't keep moving. Collecting was a purely sentimental hobby, of course, but for Neal it was more than that. The memorabilia (stolen items, rather) doubled as a representation of the life Neal no longer desired to live. He embraced his talent and loved showing off in front of Peter, but in the wake of the last three years, he felt a distance between himself and that lifestyle. His collection served as more of a reminder of who he once was than a trove of treasures.

Which was exactly why he had been so blindsided by the unmarked package full of Kate. Kate's necklace, photographs... a fortune that she kept from their favorite Chinese place that read _"_ _Someone from your past has returned to steal your heart."_ That one might have been the hardest to see again. He could just  _hear_ Kate's quiet laugh as she folded up the fortune to keep in her wallet. "I'm keeping this. You stole my heart once, I wouldn't put it past you to steal it again in the future."

Neal worked so hard to keep his past boxed away that getting a package brimming with it seemed fittingly ironic. 

Whoever sent the package knew exactly what they were doing, and Neal believed that was the point. He was being used, and he needed to know  _why_.

Sophie had been so eager to help that Neal couldn't deny her the chance to try, but it had been a few days since her arrival with the gang of thieves and so far all they'd really been able to accomplish was a general agreement that Neal, Nate, and Sophie were in charge of planning. That was it. Neal wasn't entirely as confident as Sophie was that they'd be able to accomplish much else beyond that, really.

Today Neal had opened his actual home to the team, figuring that they would all make their way up there anyway. While the room they'd been using was perfectly adequate, Neal had noticed that Nate and Mozzie's escapes from the room to drink- disguised as "bathroom breaks"- had become more frequent and obvious. In his place, at least the refreshments were more readily accessed. For the past three hours, Sophie had been un-subtly trying to work an angle that let her be a Broadway star while Nate expertly guided her back to the  _real_ plan, the one that involved the conning of FBI agents than theater managers. Parker and Hardison had impressively airtight FBI aliases that they were planning to work to their advantage. Neal's one rule: don't talk to Peter. Nate's team might underestimate the seemingly unassuming agent, but Neal knew better. Peter had an intuition that was easily tapped into, particularly around elite con artists. 

If they didn't believe him, all they had to do was picture themselves in a restrictive anklet.

Much of the information wouldn't be available to them until Peter or the FBI discovered it, which was why having Parker and Hardison's FBI aliases were top priority. Once Parker and Hardison infiltrated the White Collar division, the planning would be far less touch and go, moving instead to simply "go". Nate created a few rough sketches of cons they could use depending on the circumstance and Mozzie vetoed nearly every one on the grounds that there wasn't enough finesse; Nate merely glowered at Moz until he quieted down and began nursing a bottle of Pétrus. It was impressive, actually.

"He does that to Hardison whenever he gets too technical," a low, distinctive voice seemed to growl at him from the shadows. Neal didn't even think it was _possible_ for the shadows produced in his living space to cover an entire being. "Nate probably just assumed it would work on your friend by association." Eliot Spencer stepped slightly closer to him, allowing the light to fall across his face slightly. Neal thought he saw a hint of a smile on Eliot's lips, which had, until this very moment, stayed together. It was like the man was allergic to talking to other people. All traces of humor vanished before Neal could even comment on what he guessed was a joke, though he couldn't be sure. "I might have to ask Nate if he'll teach me that move," Neal said smoothly, giving Eliot a classic Caffrey grin. Most people couldn't resist a good smile, and Neal had it on very reliable authority that his was one of the best. Then again, Eliot Spencer was proving not to be most people. He hardly acknowledged Neal's appearance at all. In fact, this was the first time they'd had an interaction since the team had arrived two days ago. Even now, he could see Eliot retreating back to wherever it was he went internally when he was lurking in corners, presumably keeping a keen eye out for possible danger. Neal had encountered a number of specialists like Eliot in the past, but none so... efficient. 

Neal was uncomfortable with too much silence, so he gave Eliot a weird combination of a nod and head bob movement before sidling next to Sophie. What was he supposed to do? Clearly Eliot preferred to be left alone. "Please tell me you've made some progress." He half-pleaded to his former cohort. Sophie narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. "We have, in fact." At Neal's expression of surprised relief, Sophie added: "No thanks to you, however! Nate's decided that it will be best if you are entirely out of the actual information retrieval bit. If this Burke is as observant as you say, it'll be best if you remain completely outside of our operation." Neal nodded in agreement, although he hated the idea of waiting around at home while the others were working. "I understand," he spoke slowly. "As long as it's only for the beginning. Once we know who's behind this, I'm back in, I don't care if Peter's got his eye on me." Sophie glanced at Nate, who appeared remarkably sober despite the amount of whisky he'd consumed. "I suppose... that's alright." Sophie stated, only after Nate didn't give any indication of displeasure with Neal's resistance to being entirely out of commission. He'd already been benched by Peter, he wasn't going to let his recruited back up team do the same to him. 

"So, what if we have a bit of fun while Parker and Hardison are doing the retrieval work! Of course Nate will be monitoring everything," at this point, Mozzie felt the need to interject with an enthusiastic "As will I!" before Nate shot another withering look in his direction. "And we're still trying to work on my theater management angle," this time Nate's glower was directed at Sophie "but what if we have you and Eliot go around various locations in New York as if you're planning some kind of hair-brained heist or something equally pedestrian?" She was so delighted with the plan that she clapped her hands at the end. Neal felt that saying no to Sophie was a cardinal sin, partly because she'd hypnotised him into thinking so once before and partly because she was so damn pleased with herself. "I don't know, Soph. Peter might see right through that." Sophie just smiled. "But don't you see, that's the beauty of it. Even if he doesn't believe everything's entirely on the up and up, he'll be so distracted by why you're pretending to attempt a low level crime that he won't even notice that two new agents have joined his briefings on the case." He couldn't deny her there. Peter seemed to have a one track mind when it came to Neal. If Peter thought that Neal was up to anything truly stupid, he'd lose all focus on anything else. "Of course, you two could be doing anything really. We already know he's surveilling you: all we have to do is have you active and not moping around here and we'll be in." 

Neal couldn't imagine a better plan... or a worse partner to enact it with. He couldn't imagine interacting with Eliot Spencer in a way that was believable, or natural for that matter. And if Eliot's grim expression was any indication, it appeared they both had qualms about this side endeavor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe how well-received this has been thus far! I appreciate you guys so much. xx


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter knew Neal's methods of retaliation quite well. Any time he didn't get his way-- which happened often-- Neal either sulked into a bottle of wine for the better part of a week, or simply cavorted around his radius in an attempt to break Peter's willpower. However, Neal's predictability was showing up in an unexpected manner...

**neal**

"You didn't have to dress up on my account." Once he said it, Neal realized he probably sounded like an asshole. After all, he was wearing a three-piece suit and a muted blue fedora. Meanwhile, his partner in crime for the day was wearing an unforgivable amount of black: black fitted jeans paired with a snug black tshirt. The simple ensemble was putting Neal's $7,000 suit to shame. Eliot ignored Neal, and turned in Nate's direction as he barked nonsensical guidelines at the both of them. As he turned, the black fabric of his tshirt lifted just so and Neal found himself thinking about abs that might as well have been carved by Michelangelo himself. 

Neal stopped himself from staring just before Eliot glanced back in his direction. _Christ_.

His statement was meant to be sardonic, sure, but in a more friendly sort of way. It was entirely possible that friendly sardonic statements could only be shared with Peter Burke and Mozzie, though never at the same time. Neal was determined to make Eliot Spencer smile at him at least three times during their outing. The official purpose was to distract Peter from Hardison and Parker's infiltration of the White Collar division, but Neal had given himself a slightly more ambitious and infinitely more interesting agenda. Three was the perfect number, because one smile might be easily excused as a misinterpreted scowl and two smiles weren't half as indisputable as three. Besides, Neal liked a challenge.

Nate was still yammering away about the plan, the Blue Whiskey Run or California Gambit or whatever insane name he'd dubbed their con. Neal took the opportunity to situate himself just behind Eliot. With all his training, Spencer could doubtless detect movement in the other room, much less Neal's close proximity. And yet, no reaction. The Hitter didn't even do his customary uncomfortable shift that took place any time Neal was in his general vicinity.

"Do you think he'd notice if we left without hearing all about the crucial details of this scheme?" Neal murmured conspiratorially to Eliot. This earned a brief glance marred with curiosity and disdain all at once... and a slight twitch of a smile. One down, two to go. He might have gotten more than he bargained for, taking on Eliot as a side project.

 

* * *

**eliot**

"Do you have to wear the hat indoors?" Eliot half-groaned to Neal. The insult felt more like a brief confidence of Eliot's, and Neal couldn't help but grin to himself. He dramatically tipped the hat to the side. "Nobody else seems to mind." How many times had Peter told him he looked ridiculous wearing a hat inside?

Thinking about Peter was exactly what he should be doing right now, as they walked around the faux target- a newly re-opened art gallery that had recently (and conveniently) been used by Burke Premiere Events for a highly anticipated charity gala. The re-opening of the gallery featured a display of extremely rare and valuable jewels. Just weeks before, as Elizabeth was well underway with plans for the charity gala, Neal had mentioned the unprecedented display in passing to Peter for his own personal amusement... there was nothing quite like the shade of red Peter Burke's complexion took on when he suspected Neal was planning something untoward. 

The problem was, he wasn't really thinking about Peter or focusing on their actual mission at all. Nate had suggested they mill around the gallery for a substantial amount of time just to get onto Burke's radar, and then remain nearby to create further suspicion. Easy enough, but the gallery was in the early stages of their re-opening and only had a selection of pieces displayed. The issue Neal was having with talking his way into this private gallery viewing was his lack of desire to view anything other than Eliot Spencer. 

Eliot was practically gliding from one display to the next, silently observing security and making what Neal could only assume were useful mental notes. It was that damn fitted tshirt. Driving him absolutely insane. Before harassing him about the hat, Eliot hadn't said two words to Neal. 

Distracted, Neal continued to follow Eliot's purposed trek through the gallery. He was so busy musing what possibly could have prompted Eliot to break his silence that he completely missed the fact that his partner for the day had stopped to view a rather hideous modern art sculpture.

The collision was embarrassing for Neal, with electric, unexpected touch making him blush slightly before he regained composure. Meanwhile, Eliot recoiled, clearing his throat as he eyed Neal carefully. Bad to worse.

"I... um, sorry. Focusing too much on the details of this atrocity, I guess." He gestured to the sculpture half-heartedly. Neal was relatively certain Eliot had caught on to the fact that Neal hadn't been looking at any of the displayed pieces. Eliot managed to surprise him with another burst of conversation, however. "The gallery director just went on a break and was replaced with an assistant director. I'd suggest you put that smile to use..." Eliot trailed off, somewhat awkwardly. Neal suspected he wasn't used to talking so much at once. He was grateful for an excuse to leave the collision completely unaddressed, ignoring the question of why he was so shaken by it. Eliot stayed with the grotesque sculpture while Neal made his way over to the director's station. It took him under five minutes to charm the young assistant director into viewing the unfinished sections of the gallery.

"Thank you so much," Neal spoke with a sincere grin, glancing in Eliot's direction. "My partner and I met at a similar showing, and we're visiting New York for our anniversary. It means so much that we'll be able to revisit that memory, even if there aren't any pieces displayed." The assistant director enthusiastically agreed with Neal that yes, she couldn't imagine a more romantic way to propose. "I'll be sure to keep everyone out of this area for the next few minutes, it's the least I can do!" Eliot slinked over to them, having correctly assessed that they had an 'in'. "There he is now. Wish me luck!" He murmured conspiratorially to the assistant director. She gave Eliot a huge, obvious smile and Neal couldn't resist grabbing his hand. "Honey, she said we can have a private viewing of the unfinished gallery! Isn't that something?" Eliot must have been thrown into unwanted scenarios on a regular basis, because he didn't flinch at the touch like before, or send Neal one of his customary scowls. Instead, he tightened grip, and gave Neal a highly believable look of affection. "I knew you'd make it happen." 

Neal led Eliot into the blocked off area, winking at the assistant director as they turned the corner. Eliot took the opportunity to loosen his grip and drop Neal's hand. "Was that the only thing you could think of?" He asked, visibly annoyed. "No, but any other scenario would have had her inviting herself along. The two of us? She definitely would have been trying to get someone's number." Lame. In reality, he hadn't considered any other excuse for needing to be in the area. Damn that fitted tshirt. 

Eliot scoffed, and Neal ruefully added, "I'm meant to be proposing right now" before he began to walk around, sure to stand in front of the windows so the street cameras would pick up that he'd made it into the 'under construction' part of the gallery. Now it was Eliot's turn to watch as he did all the surveying. 

"This really wouldn't be a terrible score," Neal muttered, noting the very lax security measures and the easily accessed jewelry displays. None of the jewels were present at the moment, but the displays were outdated by a good seven years, and Neal had mastered them well before that time. He began picking the locked, empty display just for fun. Possibly to show off. 

"How long does it take one to propose, anyway?" Eliot asked, gruffly. He hardly gave the now-unlocked display any notice. "We should leave." Barely above a whisper. And then, another surprising turn of events-- Eliot put his hand on Neal's shoulder. The action was so natural and not at all awkward, leading Neal to guess someone else had joined their private tour. "I don't know why you thought it would be in there," Eliot sighed in an almost theatrical way, tugging Neal out of the hunched position he'd adopted while picking the display lock. "You must have left it in the car." Really, Neal had given Eliot far too little credit. His performance was Oscar-worthy. "I suppose you're right," Neal responded cheekily, giving Eliot a playful nudge. "I'd be lost without you!" The scene was interrupted by the gallery director, who had been carefully watching them. "I'm so sorry, gentlemen... this area is closed to the public." She crossed over, sniffing the air with suspicion. "I have to apologize for my assistant, she wasn't aware of our policies..." Eliot continued to play loving boyfriend, holding Neal in a casual yet affectionate embrace while the director eyed them. For one so muscular, Neal was surprised to find comfort in the embrace. "Of course, of course." Eliot spoke first, possibly because Neal was once again thrown off his game and incapable of forming simple sentences. "We were just leaving anyway." He separated himself from Neal slightly, but grabbed his hand for added measure. Seriously, was he attempting to win some sort of an award for this performance?

The director was barely affected. "Thank you for understanding. I'll just lead you out." she stiffly gestured to the corner leading to the front of the gallery. Eliot practically pulled Neal along as they were paraded back into the maze of sculptures and displays. "Thank you so much," Neal mumbled to the gallery director, mustering a half smile. They made a quick exit, and Eliot didn't let go of Neal's hand until they were across the street, debating whether or not to venture into the tiny cafe situated perfectly parallel to the gallery. "It couldn't hurt to stick around in the same area for a few more hours," Neal said lightly, looking wistfully at the pastries on display in the window. He glanced over at Eliot just as a small smile was fading from his lips.  _Two_ \-- he thought, just before asking "What?" 

"Nothing," Eliot responded. "Just thought you'd be a little quicker on your feet, I guess." And with that, he glided into the cafe. 

Wonders never cease.

 

* * *

**peter**

"Sir, I'm bringing in a couple of agents who are familiar with the MO of the Caffrey case." Peter looked up from the computer screen. He'd been tracking Neal's location, just checking in every hour or so, and Neal was on hour three of no movement. The address he was at seemed familiar to Peter, and he was just about to look it up when McSweeten poked his head in. "I cleared it with Hughes, but I wanted to give you a heads up."

Peter looked through the glass doors and out into the bullpen. Two figures with their backs to him stood out from the rest of the room, particularly because they were standing in Agent McSweeten's desk area. He glanced back at the computer- still no movement from Neal. "That should be fine. Make sure they're up to speed before this afternoon's briefing." Not that there was much to brief. Nothing had changed. It had been over a week since Neal had received the package of mementos, and still nothing. Hopefully a new set of eyes (or two) would be just the thing to help break the case wide open.

"Oh, and McSweeten-" Peter stopped the agent just before he exited his office. "Let's stick to calling it the Fortune Cookie case for now." He knew there was no chance Neal would be around to hear the agents speculate Neal's significance to the case, but he preferred to keep his team focused on details over speculation. He also wanted to spare Neal's feelings, somehow. McSweeten gave Peter an awkwardly apologetic smile before exiting. Peter watched as McSweeten ushered the two new agents into the dreary, unused part of the bullpen where all the temps found themselves. Diana's desk was fairly close to the graveyard, and she stood to introduce herself. Peter told himself to follow Diana's example and welcome the agents to the team as well... but not before he searched the address Neal had taken residence at for a good three and a half hours now. 

Peter knew Neal's methods of retaliation quite well. Any time he didn't get his way-- which happened often-- Neal either sulked into a bottle of wine for the better part of a week, or simply cavorted around his radius in an attempt to break Peter's willpower. However, Neal's predictability was showing up in an unexpected manner... he never stayed in one place for so long. Generally speaking, Neal was controlled chaos. It was paint by numbers. He moved from one place to the next, appearing to have no direction at all, but in reality he was executing a highly well thought plan.

So what game was he at this time? 

The address search boasted of a gallery re-opening featuring rare jewels, and also delivered a maps photo of the gallery he remembered as the host venue for a recent event put on by El. Neal could be just messing with him. Very likely. But he knew he'd be distracted all day if he didn't have some sort of reason for why Neal would be at the gallery. He sent Diana a quick request to bring up street cam pictures of the location, within the last four hours.

While he waited for the information to be compiled, Peter considered the Fortune Cookie case. He knew they had very little to go on, but it was deeply frustrating to revisit the Adler case and not immediately have all the answers. The whole experience was like reopening an old wound Peter would have much rather left alone. He felt like they were running circles around this case, not getting anywhere. The few leads they had weren't substantial enough to move them on to the next piece of the case. All they had were Kate's mementos and the note... and it was tough to say how pertinent Kate's belongings were to the case.

He wanted to get to the bottom of the package's contents for many reasons. Namely, Neal. The day he submitted the package, Neal wandered around the office in a near-stupor, half shouting at the agents. Despite the unprofessional workplace behavior, the real reason Peter had Neal removed from the case and given an indefinite vacation was the look in his eyes. His expression was totally distraught. Peter could tell he felt the package was personal, that his involvement in the case was necessary. But he knew Neal wouldn't be able to accomplish anything if he was viewing it as an attack on himself. He was far too defensive to make any calm, rational decisions. 

The other reason he wanted to solve it was closure. Even when it was all said and done, the Adler case had never felt totally finished to Peter. Receiving a haunting package with a cryptic note was just confirmation of what Peter had long-suspected. The note's language was difficult to pin down. It was one part confessional, damning Adler as well as themselves, taking full blame for Kate Moreau's death. 

" _Adler was simply another string, not the puppet master..._ " the note read, which had been difficult for Peter to swallow. If Adler was, indeed, merely following orders, that meant there was potentially an entire operation out there that hadn't been affected by Adler's death in the slightest. Whoever had written the note wanted the reader to be certain that without encouragement and employment from 'The Visionary', neither they nor Adler would have amounted to anything above low-level crime. Clearly the author intended for Neal to read the note and seek out The Visionary for himself, but Peter hoped to somehow find the note's author before going any further. He had a team analyzing the note to determine any useful facts they could- a challenging task for sure, considering it had been typed.

An email notification popped up, breaking Peter from his reverie.

Diana had attached a handful of photos, commenting how convenient it was for Neal to plan a trip to a gallery he'd been at just weeks before. "My thoughts exactly," Peter murmured in agreement to the email, before downloading the photos. The first photo he clicked on didn't show Neal at all. He assumed it was just an error on Diana's part, and hardly took in the subject of the particular picture before clicking on to the next one. It became clear that there was no error- Neal was actually _with_ the unassuming figure dressed in all black. Maybe it was a date. Neal took people to galleries sometimes; he'd confided in Peter that he liked to use his unlimited art knowledge to impress dates. However, the figure in black didn't look like the type who would appreciate an art history lesson. His expression, in all of the shots of them outside of the gallery- was distrustful. He didn't look very comfortable, so Peter doubted they were on a date. If they were, it couldn't have been going well. 

There weren't many pictures to scan once they entered the gallery, although a red flag went up for Peter when he caught a glimpse of Neal standing in an obviously closed area of the gallery. Surely Neal wasn't this transparent. Contemplating a gallery heist as means of retaliation towards Peter was an epic low for Neal Caffrey, not that he could say he was totally surprised. Neal was always going to weave when Peter expected him to bob. A few more clicks and there he was, exiting the gallery... hand in hand with the unknown figure. Peter wasn't sure if it was worth pursuing, but he made a mental note to use facial recognition software to determine whether or not this was the least romantic date ever or simply a haphazard attempt to scope out the gallery.

McSweeten rapped on the glass door to Peter's office twice before sticking his head in. "We're ready for the briefing, boss." He'd get back to Neal later. For now, it was back to the Fortune Cookie case, starting with a briefing of all the same facts they'd been going over for the past week. More circles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this bit will be enough to keep you all from strangling me through your laptops for being so terrible at consistently updating! xx


	6. Chapter 6

**parker**

Nervous energy.

The entire room, full of endless black suits and white walls, was bursting with it. Though she hated the sneaking feeling that at any moment she and Hardison would be made (not likely) and arrested (wouldn't matter, she had at least fifty fool proof jailbreak plans), Parker was thrilled with the awkwardness of it all. The stark room was filled with people who each seemed to have a purpose, with grim expressions and steely gazes. One of those steely gazes was locked onto her right now. She decided to make it into a staring contest, looking unblinkingly until the man turned away, baffled.

Parker was still grinning to herself as McSweeten gestured into a dingy cubicle. "It's not much, but this is what we have." Agent McSweeten straightened his shoulders a little at Parker's unimpressed eyebrow raise. Strange guy. "I mean... we just get a lot of temps... so things get shuffled around in this section. I know it's probably not what you are used to back at headquarters." Hardison cleared his throat as he crossed his arms defensively. For whatever reason. "Yeah, yeah. It'll do. You said there was some sort of briefing?"

McSweeten shrunk even more into himself. "Yeah. I'll give you a heads up when it's starting. I'm sure you already have something prepared for Burke, anyway. Hagen-" he shyly nodded at Parker. "Indicated that you two were more than familiar with this type of case." Hardison kept his arms crossed. "We are. Thanks for the tour, McSweeten. We'll just go over a few things before the briefing," and he gestured to the cubicle opening as a wordless goodbye. The agent got the hint, awkwardly shuffling out of the cubicle.

"Well. This is exciting." Parker mustered, hoping any passersby thought she was sincere. Hardison finally relaxed, finally seemed okay enough to give her the eye contact that everyone else around here shared so freely. "I know you don't like this assignment, Hagen." She felt herself flinch at Hardison's use of the alias. "But we're the best at what we do. People are counting on us to do this right." Parker wondered if this encouraging speech was more for her benefit, or Sophie's.

Despite the risk, Sophie forced Hardison to wire up. It was all "Oh- just for the first day!" and "Just a small wire!" for the first half hour of planning this infiltration. She'd insisted, and Hardison happily complied. He might not like jumping off of buildings, but he certainly didn't shy away from situations where his freedom might be compromised. Idiot. At least skyscrapers weren't capable of threatening imprisonment.

Parker opened her mouth to give a noncommittal reply when an attractive agent glided her way into their cubicle. Parker's mouth was still gaping open as she introduced herself. "You're the team sent in to give us a little more insight on this case, right?" With Hardison's nod, she continued, "I'm Diana Barrigan. Just thought I'd say welcome to the case, I guess." Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice Parker give her a once-or more accurately, a twice-over... damn.

"We're happy to be here-" Someone was awfully enthusiastic. The bemused (Dana? Or was it Dinah?) and slightly worried (Hardison) expressions being sent her way made Parker realize. It was her. Miss Enthusiasm, USA. She was the one speaking too loudly, too eagerly. "I'm Ellie Hagen, this is Arthur Thomas." She pushed her hand out before she could stop herself. Hardison appeared to be doing all he could not to stare at her like she was a crazy person. He wasn't doing very well.

"Nice to meet you, Ellie." Darla looked like she couldn't quite figure out where this exchange was going. Parker would have been happy to share... if she had any idea herself. She was just glad the agent shook her hand, mercifully allowing her to stop standing there with her hand out. What the fuck. Was going on.

Hardison remembered himself, clearing his throat. "Really, thanks for the welcome. I get the idea not everyone thinks we should be here." Maybe that's why Parker kept having staring contests with the other agents. They were checking out the new kids, the 'experts' at the case that couldn't be cracked. Faking expertise was easy enough. You just had to be very lucky, and highly skilled at pretending. Of which Parker was 0 for 2, currently. She couldn't stop herself from non casually looking at the agent, Diane- no, wait- definitely not Diane. She turned to Hardison, desperate for him to interrupt the fiasco that was unfolding. But the agent was speaking again. Maybe she'd been talking for awhile? Time felt like it had almost totally stopped.

Parker needed Sophie to guide her through the next thirty minutes. Hour. Maybe more. However long it took for her to act normally again. "... it's no big deal, you two will fit right in with the core group of us that's working on it. Most of these guys are just mad they got pushed farther away from the action. Everything surrounding this case is pretty tough to crack, and Peter- Agent Burke- has been very sensitive regarding this case. Not much information is beyond shared beyond the few of us that are working it." Hardison seemed to be appeased by whatever the agent had stated in addition to the bit Parker had actually heard. "Good to know. Thanks for the welcome. We really should go over our statements for Burke before that briefing," he readjusted the file he was holding. The agent nodded respectfully. "See you there."

"See you there!" Parker's voice sounded all weird and too high. Usually Special Agent Hagen of the FBI didn't interact with other agents, aside from Special Agent Thomas and occasionally Agent McSweeten. Evidently she had never spoken to another woman before today.

"You alright there, Ellie?" Hardison was still looking at Parker like she'd grown two additional heads. "I'm fine. It's nothing. She's cute." Stoptalkingohmygod. Cue Hardison eyebrow raise. "Cute."

"Nothing. Case. We're working a case. We're going over a file." We're breathing in, we're breathing out, we're pretending Parker hasn't grown two heads... Hardison backed off almost instantly. "I'm thinking we definitely lead with the information here," he launched right in, re-tracing over the case Neal and Nate had fabricated for Special Agents Hagen and Thomas to qualify them as 'familiar' with Neal's mystery box case. It was a less mysterious, more standard white collar crime, ensuring that it would be accepted as fact with very little question. Just as Hardison finished his 'notes', McSweeten walked by and indicated the briefing would start in five minutes. Upstairs, to the left. Big conference room, glass doors. Every room upstairs had glass doors, so that bit of information wasn't exactly helpful.

Regardless, Hardison and Parker found the conference room without much trouble.

 

* * *

**peter**

The agents McSweeten had brought on for the case definitely seemed up for the job, unknowingly having taken over the entire briefing with their impressive assessments of the suspected motives for the Fortune Cookie case. When fifteen minutes passed and Agent Thomas was still giving a complicated explanation of the resolution of their most recent case, Peter cleared his throat.

"Well, agents, we are definitely grateful to have your expert opinion for this case." Thomas seemed a little taken back by the interruption, but politely took his seat as Peter continued. "We have a lot of ground to cover, and we are losing valuable information with every moment. I'm going to propose we work in teams to review the case as efficiently as possible." Peter assigned Agent Thomas to work with a group of other agents on deciphering the typed note, and decided Agent Hagen would be suited to work alongside Diana. Barriagan was already done cataloging the mementos found in the box and had indicated she was going to need at least a day or two to determine which items were significant to the case and which ones merely held sentimental value. Both agents had mixed reactions to their assignments, but Peter suspected they were simply battling their own 'new territory' demons.

Half the day had already been spent giving formal welcomes and useless briefings. Peter needed a breakthrough to come, and if that could be done with these agents, he was going to put them to work right away. Circles be damned.

 

* * *

**eliot**

Two and a half hours. That was how long Eliot let Neal Caffrey suffer in a very practiced, palpable dead silence.

He decided to go mute the second he waltzed into the tiny cafe across from the museum. He couldn't help himself from teasing Neal after his miserable inability to bounce back once Eliot himself had joined in and properly 'boyfriended' his way out of the gallery director's suspicion. Years of working under Nate's outrageous and oftentimes downright stressful aliases (that one week he'd posed-- literally and figuratively-- as a ballet instructor?) had given him an edge that evidently even con-men couldn't replicate. It was satisfying to see Neal so uncomfortable, so squirmy as he shot furtive glances at Eliot and then worked twice as hard NOT to meet Eliot's eyes. True, he was absolutely delighted by the turn of events. But he'd given Neal something when he decided to acknowledge the rookie mistakes out loud. He'd let Neal know that he was paying attention. Thus the silence.

Two and a half hours worth of brooding from Eliot as he slipped back into the 'acting suspicious in a sort of date-y kind of way' persona. He'd ordered an espresso in the haze of his triumph over Neal, and had to live with the humiliation that came with the tiny ass cup they'd handed him. He was sure to look comical to any random passersby, so Eliot made sure to give a few withering glares at anyone who even halfway grinned in his direction. Either Neal was keenly aware of the motives behind Eliot's silence, or maybe he was just afraid of what would happen if he interrupted the 'angrily sip espresso and dare anyone to laugh' thing that Eliot had going on... whatever his reasons, Neal kept pretty quiet too, aside from the odd commentary on the fashion choices of museum goers.

Radio silence was where Eliot shined. The more time Eliot spent just observing and assimilating into that fly on the wall he'd always been, the more comfortable he was. The triple shot of espresso was just enough energy to make Eliot feel invincible, more alert than he'd ever been. He looked at Neal instead of the museum. If they were meant to be casing the place, it wouldn't have taken two of them to do it anyway. Eliot was sick of subterfuge. By now, Parker and Hardison would be well infiltrated into the FBI... or not. Either way, Eliot and Neal had no real reason to be here anymore, apart from serving as a small annoying distraction for Peter Burke. As Neal kept his eyes glued on the museum, Eliot kept his on Neal. The nearly imperceptible nervousness clinging to Neal as he tapped his fingers against the window's glass. The worry lines in Neal's face increasing and decreasing as he softly rambled about a particularly offensive chartreuse number walking out of the museum. Whatever chartreuse was. Eliot settled finally on Neal's hat, carelessly tilted to the side and yet still worn like it was the final piece in his suit of armor. If Eliot took comfort in silent observation, perhaps Neal found the same comfort in thinking a hat could offer him protection from more than just a few drops of rain.

Eliot let a few more beats of quiet nothingness pass between them-- with just the sounds of the busy cafe serving as a nice backing track-- before he tapped the table, gently forcing Neal to make eye contact with him. "We're probably good," too soft. "Been here awhile. Definitely suspicious." The latter statement was said with full confidence. What wasn't suspicious about a well dressed man having coffee with a guy who kept giving death stares to anyone who looked at him funny?

Maybe was Neal's turn to be dark and mysterious. He wordlessly nodded agreement before making moves to leave. "You're right. I'll see you back at June's." Neal had indicated earlier that he should return by himself and after enough time passed, Eliot could sneak back in through the neighboring apartment. "Wait," The plan had seemed easy enough before, but now Eliot wasn't so sure. "What if I just go... with you?" Neal undoubtedly understood Eliot's meaning, but he still shot him a quizzical look.

"If we're trying to mess with Burke, I mean." Soft again. Eliot cleared his throat and attempted to keep his voice sure, even. "If I'm with you, you know. It'd probably keep him pretty occupied. He'd either assume we're still in the stages of planning some sort of heist, or," Neal brightened. "Or that you and I were on a date that went well enough for me to invite you home." He chuckled, readjusting the tilt of his hat so it rested just so. "I like it. Either way we're driving Peter crazy, keeping him from paying too much attention to Parker and Hardison. Sounds good to me. You sure you're up for it, though? Dates usually involve a bit more... effort." He drew out the word almost like a threat.

Eliot briefly considered whether or not he had the patience to indulge Neal's games before standing from the table, crossing to join Neal. "Let's go." He huffed, latching his hand into Neal's as a way to let him know just how 'up for it' he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW, I KNOW. I can't believe how long it's been since I last wrote. Please let this be a peace offering! admittedly I rushed the ending-- apologies if it's a bit of a mess. xx


	7. Chapter 7

**five weeks ago**

_Enforcer._

The title clung to her even now, even at her most desperate. She would right wrongs, whatever the cost.

Dressed in an unassuming all black ensemble, she slipped undetected into the apartment. Kate's apartment. The space, once just as vibrant as the owner, now existed as a stale mausoleum. There were careless remnants of the officers who had searched the apartment in the wake of the explosion, a forgotten evidence marker in the corner, a pair of latex gloves tossed aside in an otherwise empty kitchen trashcan.

Just thinking of the explosion... _her_ explosion... made her entire being constrict.

She'd revisited the scene in her mind so many times that reality was often clouded with the jarring images of the death of her friend. The death she caused. She'd played her part- dutiful, unquestioning right hand- so well. Expertly placed explosives onto an airplane meant for Caffrey. _"We must eliminate those who would see our work diminished. You know what to do."_

He had been so calm, so sure.

Calculating.

She knew now he intended the explosives for Kate from the beginning. And to add insult to injury, he continued to pay the apartment's rent every month, just as a standing reminder of the life they had ended together. 

She tried her best to shake the memory and return to her task. She stepped carefully through the familiar hallway and into the bedroom, pleased to see it mostly untouched. The vanity Kate had shown her, with all its tricky false drawers and hiding places for nick-knacks, stood exactly as she had remembered it.

After a particularly successful fencing of a very hot item, Kate had invited her back for a nightcap. It wasn't long before she was walking down memory lane, telling stories of her ex, a now-imprisoned con man with eyes like the Mediterranean.

"Wait," Kate had half-giggled, leading her into her bedroom. "Just look." Kate fumbled with the trick drawers slightly before revealing the hidden treasures. Dozens of sentimental pieces of her history with Neal Caffrey. "This is pathetic, isn't it? I can't believe I've held onto everything," Kate contemplated a faded fortune in her hands for a moment before slowly returning each memento back to its rightful place.

Out of sight, out of mind. 

It was time to bring the past back into view. She moved quickly to the vanity, hands working in the darkness to feel the drawer give way to the secret compartment. When it clicked open, and she felt the trinkets Kate had hidden away, she allowed herself a moment of relief.

Once upon a time, she had laughed at others' fear of being caught. She was far too skilled, too much of a legend to concern herself with local authorities or rival competition taking her down. But Kate's death had been her breaking point. And she had never anticipated finding herself on the other end of his wrath.

For too long she had hidden, waiting for the other shoe to drop. While Nate Ford's team had given operations a significant blow, it was only a matter of time before he returned to the level of power he was once at. And when he did, he would crush everyone: this she was certain of. The certainty kept her obsessively tracking the movements of allies turned enemies; kept her in a constant state of motion, never staying in a place for too long. The former Mossad agent had even stopped accepting jobs. The risk of having her location known was too great.

But she wasn't built to cower in the shadows, and she couldn't afford to wait and see what might happen once the sleeping giant awoke.

She gathered Kate's mementos into her bag, careful not to overlook anything. She wanted the message to be loud and clear - and she wanted to make the item she left behind just as unmistakable for its intended recipient. Once the drawers were emptied, she placed the sheets of music inside and closed the hidden compartment. One step closer to retribution. 

She held the bag's contents closely to herself as she slipped out of the apartment and into the night.

* * *

 

Just one knock and she was gone. She was well out of sight before Caffrey sauntered in view, curiously taking in the package. When he moved to pick it up, she walked away. Knowing he'd open the package and begin searching for answers was all the confirmation she needed.

 

* * *

**present day, hardison**

 

_Adler didn't act alone... Adler was simply another string... Adler was only partially at fault..._

Hardison had read and re-read the note so many times, the word 'puppet' was starting to sound funny in his head.

But who wrote the confession? He knew just enough about Vincent Adler to be curious about the mysterious second (and implied third) party claiming to have Kate Moreau's blood on their hands. He was a nasty dude, driven mostly by greed. Anyone working with him was either just as greedy, or a pure sociopath. Based on the choppy language of the note, he was betting on the latter. 

Then again, Neal had worked with Adler once, and he'd been capable of turning a new leaf. Maybe that's what the author of the note was getting at. Something beyond atonement. They did hint at a larger 'puppet master', after all. 

"Is it just me, or is 'puppet' a really strange word?" Alec spoke suddenly, causing the other agents working on deciphering the note to raise their eyebrows. "Not really, Thomas. But we've been looking at this a few days now." Agent Jones was no-nonsense, maybe even more buttoned up than Burke appeared to be. Which was saying a lot. "Have you gotten anything useful?" 

Hardison cleared his throat, feeling his observations weren't much but knowing he needed to keep this ruse going for the plan to work. "Right. Kind of. The more I look at this, the more I think the cryptic messaging is intentional." More eyebrows. "Not just to be vague," he rushed on, "or avoid totally spelling out who they are. I actually think they might have made the note part of the larger message the box was giving - not the focal point." Jones paused. "We considered that, but the note is totally separate from the contents in the box. Everything else we've tested is a few years old, and this note was typed on brand new cardstock." 

They went back and forth a few times, Jones in total disagreement with Agent Thomas' findings. Alec was beginning to lose patience. He couldn't dance around the obvious all day, but he wanted to get the information to Mozzie before the FBI had a chance to stumble upon his discovery themselves. He wasn't absolutely certain, but he had suspicions that the author had written the note so poorly to distract from a phrase or two that might be easily overlooked if you didn't know what you were searching for.

He needed Mozzie's help. 

Pretending his phone vibrated in his pocket, he interrupted Jones mid-argument to pull out the device and check his calls. Nothing new. "Oh, this is an important call. Please excuse me." He didn't wait for a response before stepping out, sending a brief text to Mozzie as he did. 

Somewhere, in the midst of the accusing and self-blame, was a sentence that read  _I want to rephrase attachment - my attachment to Adler and The Visionary._ It was awkward to read but the more times Hardison did, he picked up that it couldn't have been a lazy typing error. It was on purpose. Mozzie would know why.

* * *

******mozzie**

"It's an anagram."

Mozzie announced this proudly to the room, handing the phone back to its rightful owner. Hardison had snapped a quick photo of the note on his phone for Moz to survey. He seemed like the only other person interested in hearing what he'd discovered. Parker had been in a funk ever since the two faux FBI agents had returned from the Suit's inner sanctum, but she didn't seem like the type to share her emotions that easily, so he'd dropped the issue. But even Neal, who normally praised his mastery at puzzles (and who had a particularly vested interest in the solution for this one) was distant. Maybe it was something in the water.

His thoughts briefly flickered to Eliot, but he pushed them away. The hitter was nowhere to be found, and it seemed like their day out hadn't affected the dynamics inside Neal's apartment. Not that it mattered. Thoughts of Eliot reminded Mozzie of the way Neal had fallen into his hug with Sophie just a few days before, so vulnerable. He was still putting on a brave face, but his distance now was likely just another by-product of his unspoken guilt for Kate's death, slowly eating away at him.

It made him wonder what mess Neal would make this time. 

"Mozzie, of what?" Hardison's voice snapped him back to reality. "What does it say?" How long had he been in his reverie, probably staring holes into Neal's ridiculous fedora? "Oh. Sorry." He smiled, a practiced grin he broke out often. "It's not much, but I think it's a start. That phrase you found... it's an anagram. Rephrase attachment becomes  _SEARCH THE APARTMENT_. See?" He spelled it out for Alec, happy to see that Neal and the others were starting to pay attention, too. 

"But the FBI already searched Kate's apartment, didn't they?" Sophie questioned, interest piqued.

In the time Mozzie knew Kate, she had lived many different places. She even lived with Neal for a spell, but she never told either of them about her cozy loft space that had been owned by her grandmother. After Kate died, it was discovered in the investigation, another layer of mystery in her story that Mozzie couldn't help but resent. So many secrets were created in that relationship, and yet the two of them had just as many secrets that they didn't share with each other. The apartment was just one more to pile on. 

 _Don't think ill of the dead_. He hated how easily his jealous streak could take over everything. The green monster never made anything better. He should just be grateful to know about the apartment at all, seeing how that's where the note was pointing them. "I guess they missed something, then." Neal spoke, eyes flashing. He'd been disengaged, quietly nursing a glass of wine for half the night, but now he was fully present, focused. 

They were finally starting to get some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. This is a draft I started TWO YEARS AGO and figured I might as well submit now! I do actually intend to finish this thing... one day. I almost summarized this chapter as "You've heard of PWP. Meet PWP... Plot without porn." GOTTA GO, BYE! xx


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